


In for a Penny

by assassin_trifecta



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Demons, F/M, INCREDIBLY SLOW BURN, Italian-American Sparda Twins, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, and you're stuck in the middle, dante off the deep end, domestic vergil, edited to fix tense because I jump between first and second like an idiot, gratuitous use of personal demon related headcanons, no beta we die like men, or the slowest burn that i can manage, sort of domestic vergil anyway, they're really just brothers that care too much about each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25682287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassin_trifecta/pseuds/assassin_trifecta
Summary: When Dante's life is briefly on the line, you become closer to Vergil than you had ever expected to be.Who would have thought it was the Devil Hunter's plan all along?
Relationships: Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 37
Kudos: 146





	1. Strawberry

It was quiet in the days after Dante and Vergil returned from Hell. You were surprised when Dante brought his twin back with him, having thought that Vergil was gone for sure. Dante had told you – after V left him to his own thoughts, a month before – that he knew, or at least suspected the ‘Demon King Urizen’ was actually his brother. He wouldn’t let you join in this fight – “Hey, someone’s gotta stay here and keep the place running” – and had benched you, but you didn’t mind. In the month between his departure and his return, you’d seen what had happened to Nero.

V and Morrison towing the young man back into the shop, incoherent with rage and despair...

You had never seen anything like that, and hoped not to see it again.

That’s why you were surprised when, after Lady and Trish had been summarily removed from the premises, Dante and Vergil appeared in the middle of the shop.

In the middle of _your_ shop, more like it.

In the middle of your shop, on cleaning day. Covered in demon blood.

You did some quick triage on them, but discovered that most of the blood belonged to other creatures – in an array of colors – and what blood did belong to them – red, the deepest red you had ever seen – seemed to have no source, their wounds already closed or closing. You supposed that being in Hell was better for them than not, for their healing wounds at least. The demonic energy there surged through their bodies, and while they were less than human they still came back... fine.

Fine-ish.

Vergil was quiet, and while not entirely dismissive, you could tell that your presence meant a little less than nothing to him. Dante told you not to take it personally, his twin was just like that. You would have liked to know that _before_ Dante dragged his brother back into the human realm, kicking and screaming as though being reborn, but you were forgiving in this instance. Alone.

Vergil made himself scarce, secluded upstairs in the second guest room that had previously been converted to a sort of dojo that was apparently going to be sleeping quarters again. You were just glad that he hadn’t assumed your room as his own. That would have been awkward – how would you have asserted your dominance against a man like that? You wouldn’t have, and that was the only answer.

“So. That’s Nero’s dad?” You had asked it with a little more than a touch of sarcasm.

Dante had laughed, but he hadn’t said anything either. He took your point.

After that... nothing. Well, not nothing. Dante went back to work cleaning up the remaining mess after the Qlipoth, sometimes taking Vergil with him, sometimes taking you. You were rarely left alone, if only because Dante didn’t want to leave his brother alone. You told yourself it was because he didn’t want Vergil getting into any extra trouble, but you _knew_ that it was because Dante just didn’t want his brother to be lonely.

So much for good company, at least. Vergil rarely made his presence known, and when he did it wasn’t entirely pleasant. You were a little more than less-than-nothing to him at that point. Flat nothing, maybe, but you knew that you just didn’t matter. You cooked, you cleaned, you went on jobs, but no matter what you did Vergil didn’t seem to care. It wasn’t like you were striving for his attention or anything, but you just couldn’t shake the desire to please him, to have him notice you like some teacher’s pet begging for attention.

A little recognition, maybe? He ate the food you made but said nothing. He benefit from the groceries that you purchased, but made no contributions. Sure, he cleaned, but only ever his room, the unfortunately shared bathroom, or the kitchen – the only places he really used in the shop.

You tried not to be bitter about it. You didn’t even mention it to Dante when the man deigned to come home. You tried your very best to stay calm and collected. And it helped, eventually, that you turned back to the dojo – now located in the back courtyard of the shop, since Vergil took up residence and you’d decided it was finally time to clean the place up – for practice of control and inner peace. It didn’t help that you barely got any regular time there, since the bastard twin himself had made it a habit to take up the training space for his swordsmanship.

It was fine. It was fine, you told yourself.

Quiet. You liked that, after all. The times of peace in between the big jobs seemed to get shorter and shorter as you all got older, and you had learned to appreciate the year or so that you got between world shattering disasters. Vergil or not, you would enjoy yourself and your time. The jobs that you took were small, but paid well. You raked in more than Dante or his twin did, looking less disreputable than either of the brothers. Morrison knew enough to give you the high paying male clients who were more inclined to stretching their wallets for a pretty face and a well-honed blade.

You could take the time to shop more. You liked that, going out every once in a while, with Lady and Trish. The truth was that you actually hated shopping. Looking for clothes was a pain and being on your feet for so long seemed like the opposite of how you wanted to spend your down time. But you were out of the shop and you were with the gals. It was a familiar routine, and at the end of the day you all stopped at the cafe to look admire your purchases over coffee and sweet treats.

It was on one of these excursions that Trish and Lady finally decided to grill you on the presence of the second – or, first. Additional – son of Sparda in the shop.

“I’m surprised Thing One and Thing Two haven’t torn each other’s heads off yet.” Lady snorted over her cappuccino, raising one well plucked eyebrow at you.

“You mean Dante and Vergil?” You asked, aware that she had also recently referred to Nero as one of them. “Well, it’s not like Dante’s home enough for them to get into it. When he is they do their best to avoid each other.” Your sighed, shaking your head. “Whatever passed between them in Hell has had a lingering effect on their psyche. I just wish that they would have a conversation, or something. I would take fists flying – swords flying! – over this.”

“What do you mean?” Trish asked, passing over the plate of macarons that you had ordered together.

You picked up a lavender macaron – your favorite, despite the number of times you’d failed to make them properly yourself – and swiped at a bit of the buttercream on the edges before you spoke.

“It’s quiet. It’s so quiet that it hurts sometimes. Dante’s got the place so warded up and so bullet proof at this point that I can barely hear the outside when the windows aren’t open, and there’s no music playing anymore now that the damn jukebox is busted again.” Which you were saving up to fix because despite how initially enjoyable it was, the silence in the shop was becoming deafening. “Dante is barely home and Vergil is like a ghost.”

No, you shouldn’t say that. The eldest son of Sparda had been so close to death so many times that you immediately felt bad for the remark.

“I mean – he doesn’t say a word to me. It doesn’t matter that I’m there. _I_ might as well be the ghost, actually.” That was a better description, you thought. “For all I do – I cook, and clean, and train, and fight, and I’m the one raking in the most money despite how long Dante is gone, but it’s just – ugh!” You didn’t mean to, but you slammed your flat white down into the saucer, spilling a bit over the edges. “It’s... frustrating.”

“Vergil? Not noticing a woman?” Trish scoffed at that, and you sent your best scathing glare over at the woman. It barely even touched her. “Look, he just isn’t used to you yet. Give him some time and he’ll come out of his shell.”

“Like you know him so well?” You shot back, which you immediately regret. Trish was only trying to help, you didn’t want to chew her out for it.

“I’m – I’m sorry,” You admit, after an awkward bite of macaron. “I just don’t know how to handle this. It would be better if Dante were there more often, but I just – I think he’s trying to avoid it, but it’s not helping. The tension keeps getting worse and there’s nothing to break it. I feel like every time they’re close he ends up just leaving again.”

“Well, that’s easy.” Lady snorted, taking another sip of her coffee. “Just tell him to nut up. Dante’s a pushover at heart, he’ll do anything you tell him to.”

“I don’t want to bully him into facing his problems.”

“That’s the only way that he’s _going_ to face his problems!” Lady rolled her dual tone eyes at you, setting her cup down with somehow more force and grace than you had managed, marking the threat. “Dante has run away from this particular issue for near-on twenty years at this point. He tried to bury Vergil on Mallet Island and it failed, fantastically. He’s been haunted by the specter of his brother ever since.”

That was more poetic than you’d thought Lady could get. You stared at her with a bit of surprise, but you knew that she was right. You had to push Dante into this headlong or he wasn’t going to come to terms with his brother being back. They’d fought each other since they were kids, and it wasn’t getting any better now that they weren’t. it was like the violence was a bane and a boon, and the silence a mere poultice for a festering wound.

There was work you had to do in Devil May Cry and it didn’t involve a gun.

Or, it could, depending upon the temperament of the brothers. Either way, you had to get them to come together over this. Whatever had passed between them in Hell had mended a rift, but the wound was still festering.

You glanced down at the macaron in your hand, nodding to yourself.

“I think I’ll try my hand at these again.” Strawberry flavored, an offering for the boys.


	2. Home

You were pretty sure that there was almond flour and egg white caked into your hair at this point, but at least the little pink shells were drying comfortably on the table, the kitchen window open to let in the dry, cool breeze from outside. Things had worked so far, and you had even put yourself into a fine enough mood to play some music while you worked to clean up the mess that you had made in the kitchen. Soft, classical tones ebbed and flowed through the space, filling your head while you went about the menial tasks of doing the dishes. This was easy. You could think about nothing, let the music fill you and your hands go where they knew they needed to be.

You even danced a little to yourself while you went about it, stepping in time to a waltz that you were sure was Chopin every time you went between sink and dishwasher. It was easy and fun and you could lose yourself in this. If only it were always so easy.

Having made a promise to Lady and Trish, though, you knew things were about to get much worse than before. Hopefully, the storm would calm after this. Hopefully the air would be a little clearer in the end. 

That’s a tall order, you thought to yourself. Your deepest fear was that you would somehow tear open the rift again, make it worse for the brothers. Find the one thing that triggered them both, and Vergil would be off and gone again, the tenuous peace broken by macarons and good intentions.

So devoted to your thoughts and worries as you were, with music filling the cracks in between work and mindlessness, that you did not even notice it when he entered the room.

Vergil stood in the kitchen entry, leaning against the arch frame with his hip, arms and ankles crossed as he watched you work. He wore a well-fit henley and dark wash jeans tucked into the cuff of ankle high boots. It was as casual as he would ever get around other people, and you didn’t even have time to make note of it when he cleared his throat, startling you to the point of dropping one of the dishes.

Thank god it was just a plastic cutting board, but why did it have to have the guts of forgotten strawberries on it?

“Jesus – fucking – SHIT, Vergil!” You huffed, wiping bits of berry off of your face with a damp paper towel. “Christ you could fucking warn a woman first, couldn’t you?”

The demon – surely, he had to be fully and completely a demon at this point, for all the trouble he gave you – merely raised a snowy brow, amusement hidden deep behind apathy in his eyes. He had caused another issue, and still he barely seemed to care about the trials that he continuously put you through.

He didn’t even speak, just stared at you as you finished sorting yourself and righted the cutting board in its position in the dishwasher.

“Is there something that you needed?” You asked, jutting a hip out and resting your hands on it to impart the full effect of your irritation upon him. Not that it mattered. He still didn’t seem to care at all, just blinking at you. You took a deep breath, and turned away, going back to your work. He would get what he wanted and leave you in your peace in a moment’s time, if only waiting longer just so that he could enjoy your annoyance further. That had it be it, you were sure. He took pleasure in the pain that he caused you. What else would he be hanging around here for?

When you glanced back at the archway you were relieved – and somehow more annoyed – to see that the eldest son of Sparda had predictably gone.

Gone to the table, at least.

You caught him leaning over the macaron shells, peering at the little pink circles with curiosity on his face. It was the most expression you had ever seen Vergil wear, and you didn’t want to interrupt the moment that he was having, but you seriously didn’t want him messing with your baking.

“I didn’t realize you possessed such a hidden talent,” he remarked, straightening himself out and gesturing imperiously at the cookie sheets. “These are difficult the make, are they not?”

“They are,” you replied, caution in your voice. You had never had an actual conversation with the man. The two of you had occupied the same space – you wouldn’t exactly call it anything close to living together – for almost eight months, but you could count the number of words he’d said to you on one hand. Maybe. “But it just takes practice.”

Which you’d had in droves, really, but you didn’t mention that to him. Let him believe that this was a skill you’d been honing for a while, then. He watched you for a moment longer, and for some reason – since the man wore a constant mask of apathy – you could read in his face his assessment of you was changing.

“I’ve never heard music in this house.” He remarked, glancing at the speakers on the counter that were connected to your phone. You knew that was a lie – the times that Dante was back in the shop, he was blasting his tunes. You realized a little belatedly that Vergil – superior as ever – didn’t count the noise as music. You could see the approval in his expression at your particular choice and, damn it, you felt your heart leap up in exaltation with the glance.

“This is...” he continued, frowning as though he were looking for a particularly difficult word for the situation. “A nice change.”

And with that-

He was gone.

Left alone in the kitchen after his appearance, you stared at the spot where Vergil had been moments before, standing in front of the table where your macarons were drying. You’d barely seen the flash of blue that announced his departure, and it seemed as though you could still see the phantom of his silhouette against the kitchen wall.

What the fuck was wrong with this guy? You asked yourself.

What the fuck was wrong with _you_? You could feel your heart beating heavy in your chest, trapped somewhere between excitement and your rib cage. Vergil had spoken to you! And it had been two compliments, almost back-to-back!

You were ready for that heady feeling of triumph to take you through the rest of the day when you heard the front door to the shop open and slam shut.

Knowing that Vergil wasn’t the absolute best with clients, and knowing that he wouldn’t show himself to them in anything less than his vest and coat, you dusted off your jeans and tugged off your apron, darting into the front of the shop so that you could greet whoever had just come in.

Dante was standing in the middle of the shop, looking dazed and more than a little confused. There were tears in his good coat, his sword was dropped carelessly on the floor, his shirt covered in brown, dried blood, and the leather pants he wore to hunting in tatters. He stood there, staring at everything and nothing, eyes wide, body swaying gently.

“Dante?” You asked softly, taking one step further into the shop. He didn’t seem to hear you, which you knew was strange because his sense of hearing was normally so acute. You stepped forward again, and even when your hands were on his shoulders, guiding him down to the battered leather couch, he didn’t seem to notice anything.

You had him sitting down, his boots taken off and coat draped over the back of the couch to expose his ruined t-shirt, before he even recognized where he was and who you were.

“Hey, Dollface,” he muttered, reaching a hand out gently to touch your cheek. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Dante, we live here,” you remarked, alarmed at the chill of his hand. Dante normally ran warm like the rest of the demons and demon-kind that you knew. You had even felt the heat radiating off of Vergil on the rare occasions he was close enough to you to feel it. But Dante felt cold to the touch, even when you lifted a hand to check his forehead, his neck, clinically in the space under his arms. “You’re freezing, where did Morrison send you for this job?“

“Yeah?” He asked, barely even wiggling when you touched some of his more ticklish spots to check his temperature, and for damage. “What job, Dollface?”

“Dante-“ His eyes were fluttering closed, and his breathing ragged. “Dante-!” You gasped, barely able to keep him sitting upright once his head lolled back against the couch. You glanced around you, looking for any sign of what might have happened to him, or someone you could call for help. Someone-

“Vergil!” You shouted, your voice high and cracking with fear. You knew he could hear you – the question was whether or not he would respond. “Vergil please, come quick!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment if you enjoy :)


	3. Icing on the Cookie, or, A Worried Brother

He was there beside you the second after you called, but that carelessness was about him again.

“What is it this time? Has he drunk himself under the table again?”

“He’s cold as ice, Vergil,” you remarked, unable to mask the panic in your voice. You were grasping Dante’s cheeks with your hands, checking his eyes for any responsiveness. There was none, and his cheeks were somehow even colder than before. “Please, I can’t lift him-“

Vergil was the type of man that didn’t waste time. He had an ostentatious flourish, but he wasn’t the type to dally when unnecessary. He hoisted Dante up into his arms, clearly concerned for a brother that he publicly disdained.

“Boil some water, and bring one of the green stars from Dante’s desk.”

He was off without further comment, and you did as he said, moving back into the kitchen. You started the oven while you were there, getting it headed for your almost-forgotten macaron shells. While the water was in the microwave – you figure you didn’t have enough time to wait for a whole pot to boil – you passed a finger over the tops of the shells. Hardened, in the dry air from the open window. Perfect. The oven beeped before the microwave did, and you wasted no time putting the sheet of shells in.

No one said you couldn’t multitask.

Doing your best to think ahead of Vergil you grabbed the green health star from Dante’s desk, glad for once of his demonic nature. Crystalized demon blood, stars of demonic energy – normally these things were a mess when Dante left them around, but once they were cleaned up in his desk you were glad of their use. Dante always felt better after taking one of them, and you hoped that would still be the case here.

Moving further, you sprinted upstairs, taking two at a time, to grab all three heating pads that you had. You were glad that you’d purchased them, even the cheaper ones that relied on hot water. Guessing that’s what Vergil wanted you to do, you ran back downstairs, in time just for the microwave to finish. You didn’t waste time filling the two heating pads, and you took all three and the devil star up to Dante’s room.

The door was open and yo didn’t bother announcing yourself. Vergil had his brother on his bed, his destroyed clothes taken off and blankets wrapped around him. There were three that you could see, and he was working a fourth – your blanket, you recognized the fluffy comforter immediately – around him. He didn’t so much snap his fingers at you, but he still gestured impatiently at you to proceed. He’d plugged in the space heater that Dante used when the room got too cold and the heat went out in the shop.

You did as he asked, plugging in the electric heating pad at the socket beside Dante’s bed and stretching it far enough to reach under his feet. You gestured for Vergil to lift Dante’s body for you and he did so wordlessly so that you could slide the other below the demon hunter’s lower back. The third went under his pillow, and while you lingered there you checked his temperature again, alarmed that he felt suddenly _more_ chilled than he had a few minutes ago.

“I have to call Morrison,” you explained, afraid to linger for much longer lest something happen that you didn’t want to see. You handed over the devil star to Vergil and he turned back to his brother immediately to begin work getting him to ingest it. “He’ll know what Dante was up to.” He’s the one that sent him on whatever job had put him in this condition.

“Yes,” Vergil confirmed. “When you’re finished, I would like to speak with him as well.”

That chilling statement aside, you rushed from the heat of Dante’s bedroom, back to the kitchen where you could keep an eye on the oven and speak with Morrison in peace.

“J.D. Morrison,” the man answered after one ring, punctual and to the point as ever.

“Morrison? It’s Y/N.” You tried to keep the fear out of your voice, but you weren’t sure how effective it was.

“Hey – you okay there, kiddo? New guy ain’t giving you trouble, is he?”

“No, the opposite,” you remarked, glancing towards the stairs where you could see Dante’s door closed now, to keep the heat in. “The old man. Hey – where did you send him, Morrison? He got back today dazed and confused. Cold as ice and he’s just getting colder. Vergil and I have him covered in blankets and heating pads but it’s not getting any better.”

There was silence on the other end, and you were about to start screaming when Morrison finally spoke.

“I didn’t send him anywhere, Dollface.” He remarked, using Dante’s regular nickname for you. “He hasn’t taken a job from me in weeks.”

The chill in your blood that had started when Vergil quietly threatened Morrison had turned to ice, directly down your spine.

“You – he hasn’t-“ You did your best to reconcile these two statements, to no avail.

You took a breath, nodding to yourself because you knew that Morrison couldn’t see your determination.

“Unfortunately,” you remarked. “Vergil wishes to speak with you.”

“Ah, hell no,” Morrison cursed under his breath and you could hear him take a drag from the ever-present cigar. “No. You can tell that bastard brother of his that I got no interest in a conversation with him. I have my rights.”

“If you don’t do it now then it’ll be hanging over you forever.” You replied.

“That sword can dangle all it wants over my throne, I ain’t letting him get me now.”

“Alright, Morrison,” you shook your head again, sighing. “I’ll call Lady and Trish and see if they know anything.”

“You do that, Dollface,”

The call ended and you stared at the oven for a while longer, listening to the creaks of the shop before you pulled the baked shells from the oven. They had survived well this time, and you were glad for that. The filling was in the fridge, and you would work on them after you called Lady and Trish. Vergil could wait a while longer. There might be something that he knew about his brother’s biology that you would be dead weight for.

Maybe Nero would know more...

You surprised yourself by making that call first.

“Hey, kid,” you remarked when the younger devil hunter answered the phone with the same words and tone as Dante would. “It’s Y/N. I have a question-“

“No, we are not using the sweet surrender hand for-“

“That was _not_ the question.” You finished for him, clearing your throat a little awkwardly. Nero spluttered on the other end, but you didn’t give him much of a chance to apologize or course correct. “I was wondering if you knew anything about where Dante has been for the past week.”

That was met with silence. Nero breathed a few times before you could hear a faint rustle against the phone when he shook his head.

“Nah, we haven’t heard from him. Last I knew he was doing some final clean up in Redgrave, but he’s been home since then.”

He had been, and that was the troubling part. That was the _last_ time Dante had been home. He’d left a week or so later, stating that Morrison had hooked him up with a gig and he would be back in a few days. It had been another week or so later before anyone heard from him, and he ended up in this situation. You chewed at your lower lip while you thought for a moment, listening to the sounds of Nero’s home on the other end. It sounded like Kyrie was in the kitchen berating Nico about something, and Nero was watching TV. A lovely domestic scene, and one that you ached for.

“Christ.” You mumbled, pushing your free hand through your hair.

“Yeah, we don’t really subscribe to the messiah in this household, but that sounds about right. What happened?”

“He hasn’t been around for a week and a half, but he showed up today battered to hell and just – god, he was so cold, Nero.” You took a shaky breath before you could keep going. “We wrapped him up in blankets and heating pads, but he’s still cold as ice up in his room, and I don’t know what would put him that way.”

Nero went silent, thinking for a while.

“That sounds like the work of some of the demons from Fortuna, but all of those are long gone,” he explained after a moment, the frown clear in his tone. “Besides, we would have heard about Dante raging out around here, he isn’t exactly subtle.” That made sense, too. Nero blew a short breath out of his nose, then hummed in thought. “I’ll see if I can put Kyrie to the research and get back to you asap. She’s better at that stuff than me, I just point and shoot.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Nero,” you chided him, a faint smile on your lips. “You do a fine job, and you’re very knowledgeable.”

“Ah, don’t flatter me,” you could hear his short huff of laughter. “But – yeah. I’ll work with Kyrie to see if we can dig something up. You should call Trish and Lady to see if they know anything.”

“Yeah, that was the plan,” you told him. “Thanks for your help, Nero.”

“Don’t thank me yet!” He laughed, and was gone.

You stared at the fridge for a moment before you finally decided to start making the filling for the macarons. You had it made already, and it would be easy to pipe out in your hands, warmed with panic and phone use as they were.

“Hey,” you said when she picked up the line. “Do you have any idea where Dante’s been for the past week or so?”

She didn’t respond at that, and you could almost see the affronted expression on her face.

“What am I, his mother?”

“Trish that joke is older than you are.”

“Most things are,” she remarked. “But to answer your question, no. I thought Morrison had sent him on a job.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” you remarked, taking the phone with you while you used a spatula to get the icing into a plastic bag. “But he came home today – finally – after I had gotten back from hanging out with you guys and-“ Your voice caught, thinking of the terror that had passed through you when Dante showed up.

“Trish- he was so- so out of it,” you told her. “I don’t think he even knew where he was, and he wasn’t drunk, before you ask.” You’d heard her gather her breath to brush it off. “He felt so cold to the touch, and you know how you all radiate heat,” you continued, your stomach clenching with worry as you cut a corner off of the bag to use it to pipe. “He passed out right on the couch. Vergil got him upstairs-“

“Vergil? Taking care of his brother?”

“Yeah, it’s a novelty, I know,” you remarked dryly, having no time for her sarcasm. You’d explained this twice already and would have to do it again. You didn’t feel like lingering. “Anyway – we’ve got heating pads on him, and blankets, and Vergil’s got the space heater pumping with the door and windows closed, but he just-“ you shuddered, thinking about the chill of Dante’s cheeks when you’d checked him last. “He just keeps getting colder, Trish. I don’t know what to do.”

Trish was silent for a moment before she came to a decision.

“Alright, I know what to do. I’ll be there in a few.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment if you enjoy, and thank you all so much for your support!


	4. It's Electrifying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trish comes to visit, and Vergil accepts a peace offering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheese and crackers guys, I thought I had actually posted this a long time ago! Have a couple free updates for the price of 'oh god, I'm an idiot'. 
> 
> Enjoy!

‘A few’ meant different things to you and Trish. What you _thought_ would be as quick as a transfer of demonic energy was actually Trish taking her sweet time finishing up shopping in Montague – how had she gotten all the way over there? – and _then_ coming out to the shop. By the time that she had arrived, you had the macarons filled and complete, resting in the fridge until the time was right.

She didn’t even knock on the door, she just walked into the shop like it was her job – you supposed that it was, in the long run – and stared right back at you as you walked out of the kitchen.

“Christ it’s freezing in here,” she remarked, brushing electrified fingers along her bare arms to warm herself up. You understood the sentiment, and envied the power, but you were inclined to disagree with her. As far as you were concerned the heat radiating from Dante’s room and the kitchen were enough to leave you sweating. But you weren’t going to contradict her at this point, your heart was still beating too hard to do so. “Where’s the idiot?”

“Upstairs, in his room.”

“I was talking about the other one.”

“Upstairs, in his room, as far as I know.” Your answer didn’t change much – Vergil was in Dante’s room the last you checked, but that could have changed the second you walked down to the kitchen. He _did_ have a sword that opened portals to wherever he wanted, demon world included. But you were sure that Dante had locked that up. But with Dante gone...

No, you couldn’t entertain those thoughts. The last you had checked, Vergil was still nursing his brother, and that seemed actually important to him. Whether it was because he couldn’t let his long-standing opponent die or because he cared about his twin, you didn’t quite care. Or, you did care but the distinction wasn’t worth the time at the moment. Dante was in danger, and that was all that mattered to anyone in the shop at the moment.

Trish nodded her thanks, and immediately turned towards the stairs.

There was nothing that you desired more than to be completely away from whatever Trish was about to do, but you were drawn to the situation like a moth to the flame. Or like a persistent worrywart towards consistent issues. You followed after her, watching from the landing as she opened Dante’s door to a wall of heat.

Vergil was sitting on the side of his brother’s bed, his hand perched on Dante’s forehead. The sight was almost maternal, and your breath caught in your throat at the vision of it. Yes, Vergil cared about his brother, that’s what cinched it for you. Knowing his pride though, you politely ignored it.

It seemed like Trish was doing the same thing, stepping into the room and practically brushing Vergil aside so that she could take his place. However much Trish looked like Eva Sparda, however, the new scene before you was distinctly lacking in the same maternal flare. Vergil glared at her, his mouth opened to protest, but Trish brushed it off, flinging her hand back and in a shower of sparks that fell at his feet and threatened to burn his shirt.

“Shut up, dick-for-brains,” she remarked. “I don’t want to hear your excuses right now.”

You thought that was rather unforgiving of her, considering what you had told her so far about Vergil’s crusade to assist his brother. You stepped forward, lips parting to object to her brashness, but a glance from Vergil told you that you shouldn’t make comment.

“Vergil,” you said instead, your voice soft with concern. Trish’s hands were framing Dante’s face now, her blond brow creased with worry. “I finished the macarons – they’re on the counter if you would like some.” You stepped forward and touched his arm, gently guiding him towards Dante’s door. Whatever Trish had planned, you were sure that Vergil didn’t need to see it. He had already worried himself enough, and you thought you could see a hint of that worry there behind the cold mask that he typically wore.

The eldest son of Sparda forced a smile, tight lipped and looking like something more akin to a sneer. These were muscles he didn’t exercise often, then, and the stress of the situation was telling on his face. Still, he turned towards the landing, and even though you didn’t feel his muscles relax at all you could tell that he was at least a little bit glad to be away from his brother’s room, for the moment.

With Vergil out of the question you closed Dante’s door again, less than eager for the heat to start escaping. You were glad to make that call when you turned around and saw that his lips were starting to turn blue.

Trish sat where Vergil had before, but Dante’s blankets were turned down from his bare chest. You made a sound of protest but she shook her head, blonde hair cascading down over her shoulders as she flicked a wrist to silence you.

“Shut up.” She remarked, and a second later you knew why she needed to focus. Her fingers tingled with lightning, you could feel the hair raise on the back of your neck, and-

Lightning speared through Dante’s chest, and this time you couldn’t help the terrified noise that shot through your mouth.

“Trish!” You screeched, lurching forward. But Dante’s body lurched too, and this time he opened his eyes when Trish called his name.

“Ugh,” he groaned, staring up at her. “It’s not a school day, ma.” He grumbled once, and his eyes closed again.

Trish stared down at his bare chest, frowning.

“It didn’t work.”

You coughed out a startled laugh, not believing the sheer audacity of her.

“It didn’t – Trish!” You shouted, drawing her attention finally. “What did you _think_ was going to happen? Did you think zapping him was going to suddenly heat him up again?” You couldn’t hold back the frustration in your voice or how high it was rising with your fear and upset. “Trish! You could have killed him!”

“Dante’s taken worse.”

“He’s taken worse in much better condition! He’s nearly frozen solid, idiot!”

Trish bristled at that, but you didn’t care. You took a deep breath, calming yourself lest Vergil return at the sounds of distress.

“Trish,” you started again, breathing deeply through your nose and letting it slow through your mouth. “I think it would be best if you go, now.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, this is more than either of you could do-“

“Trish!” You hissed. “Dante’s in critical condition. I can’t have you shocking him like this.” You gestured to him, inert on his bed. “Please, I think it would be best if you went home.” You would take care of this yourself, you were sure. “Vergil and I can take care of this.”

“You don’t really expect me to leave Dante in the care of that ass-“

“I’m not going to say this again.” You told her, holding out your hand.

You felt the tingling, warm glow of power surround it. Runes that were etched into your skin, normally invisible, shined with golden light of divine magic. You curled your fingers instinctively around the grip of an ivory pistol in your hand. Magic that only you could conjure, divine in the blessing of Kyrie, the holy weapon was warm and comfortable in your hand, almost living. You used this only when working, a blight against demons. Sure you’d threatened Dante with it once or twice, but that was only in the most jovial of situations, when he refused to clean his shop.

You’d never once aimed it at a friend.

Trish narrowed her eyes at you, and took a half step back.

“You wouldn’t.” 

“I would.” You weren’t sure of that yourself, but you knew that Trish’s idea of care was going to kill Dante, if you let her at it. “Now leave.”

Trish glared at you, the anger clear in her gaze. You could feel the lightning crackle again, ozone lifting the hair off the back of your neck. But you thought that maybe Trish had seen reason, because somewhere in the back of her eyes you could see her expression shift. She wasn’t happy, of course, but she understood. You thought. You hoped.

“You’ll regret this.” She told you, simply stating fact. You were sure she was right.

“You can hold me to it when this is all over, kay?” You asked, your voice much softer than it had been before, friendly despite the weapon in your hand.

“Don’t let him die.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She was gone in another instant, a flash of lightning that left your skin tingling and the taste of metal in your mouth.

You went to Dante immediately, pushing charred blankets over his newly scarred chest. You could see Trish’s marks fading already, nasty shocks down his chest and belly, but that wasn’t the worst part. He was barely shivering anymore, and his skin was like ice. The gun gone from your hand now, you pressed your fingers over his forehead. There was nothing there, but when you checked his pulse you noted that it was strong, if slow.

You breathed out once, relief filling the space between you and Dante before you tucked him back in and checked the heating pads. Still hot, despite the chill of his body.

A moment later, you were down the stairs without even realizing you had left his room. The door behind you was closed, to keep the warmth in, and the shop in front of you was quiet.

Vergil was there, sitting on the couch and staring at the plate of macarons that you had left in the kitchen, his face crumpled in thought.

“Compelling, aren’t they?” You asked, leaning against Dante’s desk.

“A great feat of skill in the kitchen, I agree.” Vergil nodded, reaching forward to pick up one of the biscuits. “Though what compelled you to make them, I confess myself uncertain.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, a tired smile twitching the corner of your lips. This was the most Vergil had ever spoken to you, you were sure, and instead of his dying brother he chose to discuss your baking habits. These specific habits, no less.

“They were a peace offering, actually.” You remarked, trying to stop yourself from smiling too much. It felt uncomfortable for you to be so familiar with him, but you had been inhabiting the same space for so long you were almost _used_ to his cold presence. Now that he was actually paying attention to you, you weren’t sure how to handle yourself.

“A peace offering.” He repeated, holding one of the pink confections in the space between the two of you, as though he was uncertain as to why you would need to offer peace.

“For you and Dante,” you clarified, feeling your cheeks heat with the embarrassment that something so childish could create. You had been an idiot to think that something so simple could smooth the waters between the two. “It’s just – he hasn’t been home, and I have a feeling it’s because he’s – conflicted? Something is wrong, at least,” you added, shaking your head. “And the tension is getting worse each time he comes home. I thought – maybe, that I could sit you both down with cookies and maybe force him to talk to you.” Or the other way around, but you weren’t about to antagonize Vergil when he was just starting to get the desire to speak with you.

But he seemed to think your plan was just as childish as you had come to realize. He made a derisive snort, though it still looked dignified coming from that sharp nose of his.

“A child’s notion. Dante and I have been of differing minds since we were young.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t start talking, now.” You remarked, but you nodded. That wasn’t part of the discussion that you wanted to get into, now. “I just wanted – I don’t know.” You shrugged, feeling like a child whose parent was on the verge of grounding them. “To feel like there was someone living in this house again.”

You spoke quietly enough, but you were sure that he heard you. You were far too used to Dante’s keen senses, Vergil’s were probably even better. He heard you, but he chose to not answer you, you thought.

After a moment, he spoke.

“I have lived, from place to place,” he spoke, almost as quiet as you had. “But I have never had a home.”

He was gone a moment later, in a quiet flash of blue.

But, you noted, he took the plate of macarons with him.


	5. Business as Usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vergil comes to an unsteady agreement, and you decide it's time to get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I told you I would post again pronto. Thanks for enjoying, everyone!

Things were quiet for a time after that. You communicated enough with Vergil that you two were able to determine rounds to check in on Dante every hour, with Vergil taking the nightly hours and you taking the day. You thought it was better that way – Vergil was resting most of the time that you were awake and keeping an eye on his brother, and you were asleep when he took the same watch.

You made dinner each night, leaving a plate covered in the microwave or the toaster oven for Vergil to eat when he wakes up for dinner. Each morning you see the dishes are taken care of – not just his, but the few things that didn’t fit in the washer from dinner, as well. It’s more than you’ve ever asked for from him, but it’s a small enough gesture. The two of you are in this together now – that’s what it says.

For better or worse, your peace offering mostly worked. It seemed as though you were able to break through to Vergil, even if the macarons were originally intended to benefit him and Dante, after all. The plate of them in the fridge dwindled each time you checked, though you never saw him take any. The more you thought of it, the more pleased you were with the outcome. Vergil was finally enjoying something for himself, which seemed to have a positive effect on his mood if only a small one.

On one of the rare grocery trips that you took, risking time away from Dante only when you were sure that he was stable, you actually went out of your way to purchase a nicer tea for him. He liked Darjeeling, which you only knew because of its constant absence from your cabinet every time you bought it. You settled on something better than store brand, and wrote his name on it when you got home.

The next morning, there was thick-cut French toast waiting for you on the table.

It was a subtle sort of give and take after that, each of you taking care of the other in small ways while you both took care of Dante. Or, not so much taking care of each other, but Vergil had noticed your presence and was finally contributing to the house and the shop in appropriate ways.

It was almost nice, if you could ignore the fact that you were both sure that Dante was dying out from under you. But you both knew that sort of peace wasn’t going to last for much longer.

Neither of you could ignore important needs for long. Your emergency savings – for situations just like this, believe it or not – was dwindling with each grocery stop, each bill you had to pay. It had only been a week before you were no longer able to keep fending off Morrison and his insistent jobs. He had a stake in this place, you knew, and no matter how many times that Dante had let it fall into disrepair or lack of utilities, Morrison would never let it last long. You knew that Dante wouldn’t want to see it all go downhill for his sake, either.

The first time that you were able to come together after that discussion, it was surprisingly Vergil that approached you. A full week after Dante had come back to the shop, Vergil sat down across from you at the dinner table, awake and about earlier than he usually was.

“We will not be able to stall Morrison for much longer.” He remarked, twirling some of the pasta that you had made from the serving dish onto the plate that he must have picked up on his way to the table. How you never heard him doing things like that, you didn’t know. You were pretty sure you didn’t want to know, either.

You finished what you were chewing, willing your heart rate to calm after Vergil initially startled you. A sip of water, and you were ready to speak.

“I was actually just thinking the same thing,” you admit, pushing your pasta around with your fork, appetite momentarily absent. Not that you felt comfortable eating in front of Vergil, anyway. “We’re going to have to do something, at least. I can’t keep draining the savings.”

“I will contact him tomorrow morning, then.” With that seemingly in agreement, he pulled the plate of garlic breads towards him to take a slice of it.

“Hold on there, cowboy,” you remarked, reaching out to stop his hand in a physical halting of his words. You tried not to feel too thrilled that he hadn’t cut your hand off immediately. Or by the softness of his bare skin. Or by how he seemed to radiate heat. You withdrew your hand almost immediately. He took the bread, slower, as though unsure of your meaning.

“No, I meant-“ You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts as much as possible. “Take the bread, I meant that – I’ll contact Morrison. You need your rest. What if whatever got Dante in this state is still out there? What if he’s got something that’s contagious to half demons?” Surprised with yourself, you couldn’t hide the worry in your voice. “I’m not about to let both of you get taken out of commission like that – stop!” You added, before he could interrupt you about not being so weak that what could take out his brother could take out him. “I don’t want to hear it.

“I’m worried about Dante. I’m worried about the shop. I’m worried about you,” you admit that openly because it was fairly easy to draw the conclusion that if you were worried about Dante, you would be worried about his brother in the same circumstances. Still, you plowed on before Vergil could take any different meaning from it. You hoped he wouldn’t, despite the quiet nervous twist in your belly that proved otherwise. “Our best chances of Dante being safe and protected is if someone that knows him well is able to stay with him and protect him. You’re better at that than I could ever be.”

You admit that openly, too, though it was no surprise to either of you. You were a talented demon hunter of course, but – like Lady – you were still human, and you still had your limits. There was a whole underworld of demons up against Dante and his brother. If any one of them had learned that the legendary devil hunter himself had fallen prey to their brethren and was in his current state? You didn’t doubt that the whole army of Hell would be upon him. You wouldn’t be able to handle that – but you knew that Vergil would be. Not to mention, you had no idea how to properly take care of a half-demon. You could keep Dante warm, keep pouring broth down his throat, but only Vergil was able to handle the devil stars that you were sure were keeping him alive.

Dante’s life was in his brother’s hands, but you could hunt a few stray demons. You could make money to keep them well cared for.

Vergil was quiet while you thought – no doubt doing some thinking of his own. When he looked at you again, there was something different in his eyes. A resolve there that you had never seen before, but something else with it that you couldn’t quite place. You watched it for a moment before he appeared to slowly tuck it away, the feeling buried beneath that near impenetrable mask of his.

“You’re right, of course,” he added to himself, as if it was obvious. You were still a little thrilled to hear him say it. “Only I am able to care for Dante. Protect him.” His arrogance was a little off-putting, but you were glad of his sudden devotion to his task. “Perhaps... Perhaps I will also call the young one.”

Now _that_ was something. You hadn’t heard Vergil willingly mention his son in all of the time that he had been with you at the shop. Of course, you hadn’t heard him mention much of anything, so you couldn’t be sure that Nero wasn’t on his mind at all. Still, you were surprised to hear him openly suggest contacting his son himself, and for help no less.

“I called Nero when Dante first came home,” you mentioned, glancing up to gauge his reaction. There was surprise but he didn’t seem angry about it, so you went on. “Kyrie – his girlfriend – is looking into demons that could have done this to him.” You hadn’t heard back from either of them, but that was because you suspected it was a difficult job that you had given them, with no pay.

Vergil stared at you after that, clearly thinking but unwilling – or unable – to express the process on his face. You were sure he must have been a little irritated with you for trusting Nero and Kyrie with this – he’d never even met his son’s partner, how could he trust her, a human girl?

“You trust her, this Kyrie?”

“She’s a talented scholar, and she’s the one that helped forge my gun.” You looked down at your hand, the tattoos vibrant in your mind. “I would trust her over anyone for that, even Lady and Trish.”

There wasn’t much question after that, Vergil nodded and you understood that to mean he had accepted your faith in his son’s partner.

“Then we shall contact them again, hm?” He asked it with the faintest of smiles, and you couldn’t deny the way that your breath caught. He smiled so rarely, and the expression was startling on his features. He looked so much like Dante, but more... put together. Composed. Refined. Charming, if you were being honest with yourself. He was handsome like that, and you-

Wished you could see more of it.

Shoving that thought aside, you reached into your pocket for your cell phone, setting your fork down to maintain some semblance of not being rude about anything. Your plate was empty anyway, save for a few lingering pasta noodles. It wasn’t like Vergil wasn’t consistently rude with you all the time. You powered through the thought of his smile once more, unwilling to believe that you could be disappointing him with your terrible manners.

Good luck, Morrison was already calling you, your phone full of silent reproach as the screen blinked his name.

“Morrison?”

“Good, you answered,” he accused. “I got something for you, and I think you’re gonna like it.”


	6. Pasta Night, or, the Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Nero and Kyrie there to assist before you go back to the working life, you return to familiar routine. Vergil has other ideas.

“Okay. Pistol, rifle, shotgun-“

“Throwing knives?”

“Sharpened and runed.”

“Grenades?”

“Holy water, frag, and sunlight.”

“Sword?”

“S-“

You paused.

“I don’t fight with a sword.”

From the sofa, Vergil flashed you that winning smile. On anyone else, it would have been merely polite, a lifting at the corners of his lips; on Vergil it was nearly beaming and it took your breath away. You tried not to let it show, but your answering grin came directly from the heart on your sleeve. The nervous giggle that tore its way from your throat was embarrassing enough that you had to check your guns again to avoid prolonged eye contact with Vergil. It wasn’t fair that he could take your breath away – not when the only thing uniting you was saving his brother’s imminent death.

“A man can only try,” he said softly, the phantom of humor in his voice making your heart skip. Not that he was allowed to make your heart skip. He hadn’t even _tried_ to get you to wield a sword before, there was no reason for him to make that comment. “We’ll put a sword in your hands one of these days.”

That wasn’t fair!

You cleared your throat, turning an overconfident smirk at the half-devil. “And one of these days you’ll admit a projectile or two can make a job go smooth.”

“I have no qualms with projectiles,” Vergil remarked, that smile spreading out into a grin that matched your confidence. You’d never seen that before and you tried not to stagger with the reminder of how entirely handsome he was. Unleashed like that, you could see just how similar the twins looked. The illusion was shattered a moment later as the images of Vergil’s blue swords screamed into reality, surrounding him in a spinning ring of sharp magic. “Projectiles are respectable. _Guns_ are barbaric.”

“Tell that to Kyrie.” You remarked, the holy sigils on your fingers glowing bright.

“Tell what to Kyrie?”

You’d been so busy bantering you hadn’t even heard the door to the shop swing open. Goes to show what a liberal coating of oil will do for busted hinges. Your fix had made it easy for Nero to sneak up on you. Your eyes flashed to the door briefly, and back to Vergil quick enough to see the smile fall from his face, the blades shatter from existence. You tried not to let it get to you, but you felt your shoulders deflate. Back to your regularly scheduled programming, it seemed...

“Your father thinks guns are barbaric,” you mocked, your voice tanking low in your best impression of the eldest son of Sparda. It earned a shot of glare from the man, but you winked at him discreetly, letting him know you were just playing with him. You didn’t think that anyone had just _played_ with Vergil before – he needed the socializing. “And _I_ was reminding him of Kyrie’s most holy work on my highest weapon.”

“Speaking of which-“ A soft voice piped up from behind Nero, and Kyrie appeared in the doorway, lugging a suit case that was too big for her by far. You wondered if she had Nero’s clothes in there or just hers. A glance at her outfit told you that Nero had _maybe_ packed a weekend bag. Then again, the deep, resounding _thunk_ that the suitcase made when Kyrie set it down made you think that _maybe_ she wasn’t carrying around clothes. “I thought we could take a second look at your blessings. Before you left.”

You looked between the suitcase and Kyrie, blinking briefly. She’d come all this way, braved her boyfriend’s shitty father, just to retouch your tats? Bless her. You felt your heart swell, and the smile that you gave her was genuine and warm.

“Sure, we got some time,” you agreed with a nod. “I head out tomorrow. I don’t think any of them have been compromised, but it’s a good idea.”

Vergil glanced between the two of you, and stood up from the couch with all the grace and severity that Dracula may have possessed. Kyrie didn’t even blink.

“If it is alright with you, Miss Kyrie,” he intoned, nothing but respect in his voice. You wanted to stomp your foot and scream – you’d been working your ass off for months on this douchebag and Kyrie only had to walk in the door to get his attention. But no – that wasn’t fair. The situation was different, you told yourself, as he bowed his head towards her respectfully and continued. “I would very much like to observe this process.”

“Oh!” Kyrie’s surprise was clear on her face. She glanced between Nero and his father, and you could see the calculations barely hidden under her expression. She was thinking fast, and she didn’t even hide it. You couldn’t blame her; you were doing the same thing.

This clearly couldn’t be Dante because Dante was wounded, but he looked like Dante so he had to be Dante’s twin brother Vergil. Which would mean that he was Nero’s father. She wanted to impress Nero’s father, but she knew that Nero didn’t like or respect the man very much because he was cruel. But he was taking an interest and that was important! But he was more demon than Nero was – could her blessings hurt him if he was close enough? He was smart, he would know the risk. She couldn’t hurt Nero’s father that would be terrible. Should she show magic to anyone that wasn’t Nero or Dante or their closest friends-

You knew how fast she was thinking, because you had gone through it all before with Vergil and you were sure that you would go through it again. Over Vergil’s shoulder, you caught her eyes and smiled with a short nod. You could trust Vergil, for now. And if he was taking an interest, that was important. Besides, this was important to you and to him. Kyrie’s blessing was one of your strongest weapons – it kept you alive and kept you all fed, considering it was the heaviest hitter in your arsenal against the demons Morrison was sending you into. Vergil had to be able to trust your work on this job, sure. But he had to be able to trust Kyrie’s, as well.

You told yourself that, and forced yourself to believe that it wasn’t because he was taking an interest in you.

That wouldn’t make sense, not at all.

The idea of it still made your cheeks burn.

“Oh – okay,” Kyrie finally nodded, releasing Vergil from his polite bow. “Yes, that would be alright – if that’s alright?” She added quickly, glancing up at Nero with a sudden shock on her face.

“You don’t gotta ask permission for nothin’.” Nero remarked, brushing her hair back with his newly minted right arm. The familiar gesture put a smile on your face. “You’re a big girl, I trust you.”

That seemed to shore her up enough that Kyrie managed a grin at you.

“Alright,” she decided. “Let’s get to work.”

“Whoa, hold on there tiger,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s pasta night and I’ve got hungry mouths to feed.”

\---

“Pasta night.”

Vergil leaned against the kitchen counter while you worked the dough, one snowy eyebrow raising up at you in doubt. His arms were crossed over his chest, those stupid muscles bulging. It was like he was _trying_ to make you notice him, but you refused. For now, at least. You had work to do.

“It’s always pasta night before a job.” Not that he had noticed. You’d gone through this same process while he was in the house, but he’d been ignoring you for so long that you were sure he didn’t even realize the pattern. “It lets me get some nervous energy out, destress, and get plenty of good food. And I think that when you have more mouths to feed, the boxed stuff just doesn’t work right.”

You slapped the ball of dough once, and when you were satisfied with the elasticity of it, you wrapped it up in a dish towel and set it in a corner of the counter where you could ignore it for the next ten minutes. You cast a glance at the cookbook that you were using from Dante’s shelf. You had enough tomato sauce – fresh from your little garden – that you could make dinner for two part-demons and a couple of hungry young ladies. Vodka, a little bit of cream, pancetta, sausage, garlic, and your herbs. You wouldn’t need much for this but you knew it would be good.

“Where... did you get that book?” Vergil asked, peering at the text that you were consulting. “It looks... familiar.”

“It’s been on Dante’s shelf for ages. I use it when I make the Italian stuff.” You gestured up to the single lone shelf in the shop kitchen, above the window near the table. You had to go up on your toes to reach it, but you could manage still. “No one seems to mind when I use it.”

Vergil frowned, stepping forward so that he could look at the book as well. A moment later he leaned over the stove and – you swear it – sniffed the pasta sauce that you had been reducing for the afternoon.

“This _smells_ familiar...” He muttered, almost to himself, before he went back to the book. “Ah.” He was frowning at it, and you swear he might have actually been... upset. “This is our mothers’ handwriting.” He gazed at the text, his fingers tracing over some of the words on the slightly yellowed pages. “I wonder how Dante got it...”

“Must have been there when you went back to Redgrave.” You spoke softly, carefully, knowing what had happened there in both the distant and the recent past. “I wondered why the edges were charred – I thought it might have been one of his cooking accidents.” But it had been a house fire, you could see that now.

“Vergil, I’m sorry,” you continued, stepping forward to take the book away from him and place it back on its shelf. You didn’t want to be the one to trigger his bad memories. “I didn’t know, I’ll make something else-“

“No.” His voice was quick and sharp, and he jerked the book away from you before you could get close enough to take it away. “No,” he said again, softer now. “This is fine, it’s-“ He frowned, clearly trying to bring himself to speak. “It’s what she would have wanted.”

You looked at him, really looked at him for once. He had on a t-shirt and jeans, the most casual that you had ever seen him, but he wore an expression that belied years of discomfort, distrust, and seclusion. You knew what he had gone through – what he thought of his mother and brother and father for years. Dante had been inside the house, saved by his mother, and Vergil had been outside, forgotten and alone. Or so he thought. Dante told you what really happened. Eva had gone for her eldest son but had been slaughtered by the demons that had invaded their home before she could get to him. Vergil had been kidnapped, raised in Hell alone and tormented.

You could see on his face that Vergil was warring with feelings about his mother. He had loved her, clearly, but he resented her for the perceived slight to him, and for her death.

The fact that he wanted you to continue cooking from her recipes?

You would take that as growth.

And a serious honor, you thought.

“Alright.” You agreed after a moment, relaxing back from your position reaching for the book. “I can do that. But I’m going to need that.” You couldn’t keep the chuckle out of your voice when you pointed to the book that he was hoarding from you. “Unless you’d like to read it to me?”

You’d meant it as a joke, but Vergil clearly didn’t catch that. Instead he shifted, leaning back on the counter and holding the book against his chest as you’d seen him do with more ancient texts. Stabilizing it. Protecting it.

“Which step are you on?” He asked, tracing over the writing as he read, his finger gliding quickly over the page.

“The pasta is made and the sauce is simmering.”

“Gather your sausage and remove it from the casings, if necessary. Brown the meat in the skillet and then add it to the simmering sauce.” He read it like a text to study, focusing more on the words than the meaning behind them. He was reading his mother’s handwriting, you realized.

It wasn’t what you had expected, but you’d let it happen.

You did as he said, moving around him to the fridge so that you could get the sausage. You’d gone to the butcher for it the day prior, and you were glad that you got extra, with Kyrie and Nero around for good. Not like you had needed it – Eva Sparda calculated her husband and sons’ diets into her recipes. To anyone reading, she was cooking for at least eight.

“Okay,” you told him, once the sausage was in the frying pan. “What’s next?”

“Once the pasta is done resting, divide into six balls and roll each into a rectangle. Fold into thirds, pass through the pasta roller, and fold into thirds again. Repeat if necessary, before rolling sheets out to desired thickness.” Getting the hang of reading a recipe instead of just reading the words, Vergil continued the instructions for you. It was nice not to have to go back and consult the book every time you completed a step – maybe you would have him in the kitchen with you more often, you thought.

And them immediately buried behind a wall of refusal. That was the last thing that you needed – one of you had to keep an eye on Dante. With Kyrie and Nero here it was easier to split the shift and you were free to move around more, but when they were gone? It would be back to just Vergil and you, and he’d be sleeping during the day. Your brief period away from Dante to cook would be alone, once again.

Not that you were upset about it or anything. This was only a one-time thing, and who knew? Maybe you were only working this well because of some freak accident of fate. Maybe you would hate each other in the kitchen on a regular basis.

Maybe you were upset that you didn’t even get the chance.

Without even realizing it, you had gone through rolling out an entire sheet of pasta. Vergil had been occupying a greater part of your mind for some time, but you were surprised that it was so bad. You’d been completely distracted! At least you didn’t make the pasta too thin while you weren’t paying attention, that would have been awful.

“How do you like your fettucine?” You asked, stopping before you rolled it out into a thinner sheet. “Thin? Old fashioned?”

Vergil actually made a face at that. The disgust was brief but it was almost childish, the way he had done it.

“Thick? Eugh. Father liked it that way, I thought it was like eating worms.”

His father.

You stilled, going silent at the mention of the Dark Knight. Dante had spoken Eva a few times here and there throughout the time that you had been together. He’d mentioned that she liked chocolate and strawberries. He’d mentioned that she’d knitted his blanket for him when he was a child, Vergil’s too. Even Vergil seemed to open up a bit when he picked up his mother’s charred cookbook.

But neither of them had spoken of Sparda as anything other than a monster.

You knew about Vergil’s quest for power – the things that it had done to him and Dante. You knew that it centered around the trauma that their father had inflicted on them purely by being who he was, that it was Sparda’s sealed away demonic power that his eldest son had lusted after, for so long. You knew that both of them resented their father for what he had left for them, for leaving them alone to fend for themselves. For abandoning their mother. You always thought that there was something else in there, that Sparda hadn’t truly abandoned the boys and Eva.

You’d never heard either of them mention him as a dad.

Somehow the idea of Sparda, Eva, and the twins sitting down to a dinner of Eva’s fettucine Bolognese was surreal to you. Knowing that Eva made her pasta the way that her husband liked it was... alarmingly intimate. Another piece of knowledge about the boys’ family lives that you hadn’t anticipated knowing. A little tidbit of information about Vergil that you were sure he never would have given you three days ago.

You took a breath before you continued, choosing to remain silent for another moment as you slid the pasta sheet through one more setting, to make it thin enough for Vergil.

“Skinny fettucine it is, then.”

Eva had made her pasta how Sparda liked it. A wife’s little touch for her husband.

What did it mean that you were doing the same for her son?

_That you asked him how he liked his pasta and he actually replied, you fucking idiot._ You reprimanded yourself as you set that sheet aside to start on another one. _Don’t think too hard on it._

Right. Of course. You were just doing a nice thing that Vergil would appreciate because he likes things a certain way.

You wondered how he would like if you hadn’t said anything at all.

It took a while, and Vergil was silently flipping through his mother’s cookbook the entire time, but you finished up the pasta to the point where the noodles were hanging on the old wooden rack to dry for a while. You straightened your back, groaning slightly at the soreness from having bent over the too-low kitchen table to do your work.

“Okay, what’s – oh!”

You hadn’t asked or said anything, but Vergil was there behind you in a moment. The knuckles of those strong, sure hands dug into the muscles of your back in a way that you were sure was gentle on his part but pressed with just the perfect amount of pressure on yours. For a moment, you were glad to melt there and let him actually do that for you, until his fingers found the sore spot on your middle back where you had been bent, and a low moan of pleasure escaped your lips.

You tensed up immediately, and Vergil’s hands stilled.

“Er – not for nothing,” you said after a moment of awkward silence, glad that he could not see the burn of your cheeks. “That was nice and all but – uh – I mean – Uh?”

“You’ll be undertaking an important mission alone tomorrow.” Vergil’s voice was soft, low, and steady. You recognized it as his Thinking Voice – how he spoke when his mind wasn’t fully in the conversation, thinking of a million other different things as he so often did. It wasn’t disinterest, but it was distracted. He moved away from you almost immediately, and when he spoke again, you could tell it was from across the kitchen, though you hadn’t heard his footsteps. “We cannot have important parts of you being sore and misused. You’ll have to come home, of course. Dante needs you.”

“Right.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t trust yourself to speak any louder. “Uh – thanks.”

Without another word, you went to the stove, stirred the sauce once, and stepped away.

“Can you watch that? I need to get some uh – herbs.”

You glanced behind you, and saw Vergil nod, the book still held against his chest. You didn’t give him more thought, hurrying away instead towards in the rear of the kitchen where the door to the back patio was.

When you made it outside you inhaled a gasp of cool air – shocked that you had surely been holding it for so long.

“What the hell was that?” You breathed, reaching to touch the spot on your back where you still felt Vergil’s cool fingers against your muscles. “Who _does_ that kind of thing?”

“What kind of thing?”

“FUCK-!”

You hadn’t realized that Nero was out on the patio. He must have gone through the shop exit to get here, because you were certain that he hadn’t come through the kitchen. He stood in the sparring ring that you had repurposed back here once Vergil had arrived, down to his undershirt and jeans, with a training staff resting across his shoulders. That was funny – you didn’t know he fought with a staff at all.

More important – he was asking you a question before you’d gone and had a heart attack on him. A question about what you were talking about. Which was his father. His father’s hands. His father’s hands touching you. His father’s hands rubbing the sore muscles of your back while you cooked together.

Vergil’s hands-

No!

Nope, you were not going to go there while his son was standing in front of you, and his brother was dying upstairs.

Right, Nero.

“Uh – nothing.” You said, a moment too late. You could see his eyes narrow his nose wrinkle in an expression that was somehow similar to both his uncle and his father. It would have been amusing if you didn’t know he was onto you already just from the look on his face. “I mean – not _nothing,_ ” you absolutely did not clarify. “Just – Dante. That he got himself into this fucking mess in the first place.”

Okay, well – that wasn’t totally a lie. Those thoughts were always on the back of your mind, and it seemed appropriate.

You just couldn’t tell Nero that you still felt his dad putting pressure on all the right spots-

Ugh!

“Huh. Well, you’re right.” Nero shrugged, swung the pole off his shoulders, and got back to his offensive positions. Still, he barely broke a sweat, chatting while he worked and you approached your herb planter at the far side of the ring. “Maybe with Vergil home he’s been distracted. Got hit when he wasn’t looking.”

“As much as I want to think you’re right about that, I don’t want to do Dante the discredit of a job poorly done.” Even with his head in the clouds, Dante always had remarkably quick reflexes. He was always on top of what was coming at him, and if it looked like he was about to get the business end of a demon scythe shoved in the dark places? He was always somehow two steps ahead. Letting himself get whammied because he was distracted about his brother?

Not Dante’s typical move set.

You picked your herbs as you thought – some thyme, a sprig of rosemary, and a handful of basil leaves. You had to add those later because you didn’t want them to get too yucky or bitter as they cooked. Plus the pop of fresh green would look good on top of the red sauce.

“Worth a thought.” Nero said through a grunt as he sent the staff hard towards a training dummy. It collided with a sharp smack, and he straightened up again, turning to face you. “Me? I think he’s just getting old.”

You both knew that the twins were in their forties, at most, and that they both barely looked a day over 35. Or, well, Vergil, at least. You knew Dante had seen better days, but he was still as spry as he was back in his twenties. Some serious fuckery had put Dante in the position that he was currently in, and that terrified you. If something could take him down like that...

Maybe it was coming for the rest of you, too.

You shook your head free of the thought, wishing you could go back to a few minutes before when your only complication was the feeling of Vergil’s fingers pressing into your back.

Jesus, you wished you hadn’t made a sound. You wish you hadn’t reacted at all. Your back was still sore and the idea of someone – anyone – taking care of you for a moment was...

Well, there you go. Back to the original crisis, which you were both glad and ashamed of. You didn’t even realize you had been standing in front of your herb planter for a straight minute, clippers not clipping and swaying gently in the breeze, until Nero cleared his throat and got your attention.

“You okay there, ma?”

Ma?

What the hell?

“When did you start calling me Ma, kid?” You asked, wheeling around to face him again, your hands on your hips, a scowl on your face that you were sure would actually warrant the nickname.

Nero grinned that cheeky grin that he had when he was about to say something that he knew would really get him in the shits. You hated when he had that look on his face. He was really about to just-

“Since you started smelling more like my dad and less like Dante.”

Welp.

You turned right around and marched back to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when I said slow burn in the tags I fucking lied I'm incapable of slow burn. This is the fastest burn that you are ever gonna get lmao (i'm trying really hard here actually)

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you enjoy :)


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